little sneak peek for raspberry girl

He expected to find you distracted. 

You didn’t text or call after breakfast, or your usual lunch time, but he was too bogged down with work to get off base to physically check in, lay eyes on you, make sure you’re alright. If you’re distracted enough you forgot to text, he’s worried it means you’ve also failed to eat, or drink any water. Your little blue icon on the map tells him you’re definitely at work, but that’s all he has until he’s able to get away. 

When he does, and he slips through the back door of the bakery into the kitchen, he finds a scene he did not expect- 

and immediately knows the rules you broke today won’t result in a punishment. 

At least, not tonight. 

You’re standing at your work table, the rectangular butcher’s block that nearly stretches the span of the room, heels of your palms pressed into your eyes, hyperventilating. You’re covered in flour and there’s dried batter on your elbows, your neck, your clothes. A mess is scattered across the table.  

“Baby,” he calls softly and you turn with wide, wet eyes, and a trembling lower lip, “what-” you nearly trip over yourself to get to him, falling into his arms, your tear stained face pressing against his chest, your own heaving. “Shhh, you’re okay, you’re okay. I’m here.” The front door swings open and Mara is there, pointing at the table, you, and then makes a motion with her hand like she’s cutting air in front of neck with a grim expression. He nods and pulls you away just enough so he can lean down into your line of sight. “Hey, look at me-” 

“I b-b-broke the ov-oven,” you cry, trying to force yourself forward, clinging to his shirt, “and m-my rules.” He releases his resistance, covers your ear with his palm as you place the side of your face over his heart, one hand still twisted in his shirt like you’re terrified to let go.